Shuurai
patreon
[FT: O King of the Fairies] Chapter 74
🕑 Added 2025-04-17 13:11:44 +0000 UTCThe grand halls of the Magic Council were just as over-the-top as I remembered from the anime.
Marble pillars taller than most apartment buildings, golden trim so polished it practically screamed "compensating," and that suffocating air of self-importance that made me want to roll my eyes into another dimension.
I wasn’t impressed.
I sat dead-center in the chamber, surrounded by a crescent of high-ranking Council members, all wrapped up in their ceremonial robes like a bunch of knockoff cultists. They stared at me like I was a particularly dangerous animal they couldn’t decide whether to pet or cage.
At the top sat Gran Doma—Chairman, dictator, constipation impersonator. Guy looked like smiling might shatter his bones.
To his left, Org, the Council’s attempt at being reasonable. To the right, Yajima—the only one I actually liked.
The rest? Background noise.
They’d dragged me all the way from Magnolia just for this—political theater at its finest.
Gran Doma leaned forward, fingers steepled like this was some dramatic anime court scene. "Aiden Leonhart, King of the Fairies," he began, oozing self-righteousness. "You have been summoned today due to your undeniable power and the considerable impact you’ve had on our world. We, the Magic Council, have deemed you worthy of the title of Wizard Saint."
I stared.
Said nothing.
Let the silence stretch just long enough to make a few of them squirm.
Org cleared his throat like he was doing damage control. "To put it plainly, we want to officially recognize you as one of the most powerful mages in Fiore. This title comes with—"
"Pass," I interrupted.
The word echoed like a gunshot.
The silence that followed was delicious. You could’ve dropped a pin and it would've begged for mercy. Their expressions morphed from smug anticipation to stunned disbelief. One guy looked like I just kicked his puppy. Twice.
I smirked. "I’m not interested."
And just like that, the chamber erupted.
Gran Doma’s frown somehow deepened. Man looked like he aged five years in five seconds. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," I said, lounging back like I was chilling in a café, not pissing off the most powerful legislative body in Fiore. "No thanks."
"You understand what this title means?" barked one of the other members, veins bulging like he was auditioning for a heart attack. "It’s the highest honor a mage can receive!"
"A symbol of strength!" a woman snapped. "Of respect and prestige!"
I gave them a second. Just to see if they’d finish their little sales pitch.
Then I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. "You think I care about your titles? I am strong. I don’t need a shiny label to tell me that."
Another member scoffed like I’d personally insulted their entire bloodline. "Many mages dream of this honor. You should be grateful."
"Yeah, well," I shrugged. "Dreams are cute. I prefer reality."
A pulse of tension spread through the room like a ripple in a lake full of sharks. Their expressions were starting to crack—panic seeping through the pomp.
And I was just getting started.
"You don’t respect me," I said, voice dropping low. "You want to use me. Stamp your approval on me like some collectible card. Make me part of your system so you can control me."
They didn’t respond.
They didn’t need to.
I stood up, my casual vibe shifting just enough to raise the pressure in the room. Magic stirred in the air like a storm cloud forming overhead.
"Where were you when I dismantled the dark guilds remnants in one night? When I wiped out the Fallen, alone, while you all sat here twiddling your robes?"
They flinched.
I took a step forward.
"You don’t want a Wizard Saint. You want a leash."
One of the more arrogant old men—Council Type #37, Angry and Useless—slammed his fist down. "Watch your tone, Leonhart! The Council governs all legal guilds in Fiore!"
I didn’t blink. "And I govern the part of Fiore that actually gets things done."
Gasps. Murmurs. That classic "he-did-not-just-say-that" energy.
"You don’t hold any power over me. Not a drop. You think you can offer me power? I am power. You’re just trying to catch up."
A desperate Council member fired a last shot. "If you refuse, the Council may be forced to consider you… a rogue."
I laughed. Loudly.
"Oh no. How terrifying," I said, voice thick with sarcasm. "The big, scary Council might not like me anymore."
I turned toward the doors without another glance, but paused just long enough to twist the knife.
"You want something done? You know where to find me. Otherwise—stay out of my way."
And I left them in stunned silence, their fragile egos and power fantasies crumbling behind me.
Back at the guild, things were way more fun.
The hall practically vibrated the second I stepped inside. Everyone had that “did-he-blow-it-up-or-get-arrested” look. A few were already whispering, and I could hear someone muttering “ten minutes early, I owe you five jewels.”
I tossed my coat onto a chair like I’d just gotten back from a beach vacation, not a showdown with a bunch of magical politicians.
"Well," I said, stretching like I hadn’t just declared war on the Magic Council. "That was fun."
Makarov groaned like a man with a headache decades in the making. "What did you do, Aiden?"
Laxus, already leaning against a support beam like he’d felt the chaos from here, smirked. "Let me guess. You pissed ‘em off?"
I grinned. "Oh, big time."
The whole guild exploded in laughter.
It felt good. It felt right.
But then I caught Makarov's eyes across the room—and the atmosphere shifted. Just for a second. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.
We both knew the conversation we’d been dancing around for a while.
Guildmaster.
I hadn’t given him an answer yet. Not yes. Not no. Just... silence.
I held his gaze a little longer than usual. Long enough to say, I know.
Then I looked away, tossed myself onto a bench, and kicked my feet up like nothing had just passed between us.
Let them celebrate a little longer.
The weight could wait.
And somewhere, back in that polished marble mausoleum called the Magic Council, a bunch of crusty bureaucrats were still sitting in stunned silence, wondering how they lost control of the one mage they never really had control of to begin with.
I didn’t need their title.
Hell, I was the title.
—-
A few months had passed since we saved Ultear from herself and from Hades' influence. Things had changed in subtle ways—Ultear’s presence was no longer shrouded in that dark aura, the one that had consumed her with such intensity. But healing, even after saving her, was not something that happened overnight.
Ur had been bringing Ultear to the guild everyday, hoping that the guild can, help her heal.
Ur had been doing her best to navigate this new reality. She wanted to be there for her daughter, but Ultear was a stranger now, a version of herself shaped by years of darkness. The bond they once shared wasn’t gone, but it was strained, tangled in years of guilt, pain, and regret. I could see the struggle in Ur’s eyes every time she looked at Ultear, as if she wasn’t sure how to approach the daughter she had lost and found again.
I couldn’t offer much advice, but I had been keeping an eye on both of them. There was only so much I could do from the sidelines, but sometimes, Ur would catch me watching and say something that broke the silence.
I had been keeping an eye on both of them, and every once in a while, I’d catch Ur in moments of deep contemplation, her thoughts heavy as she tried to figure out how to rebuild the bond with Ultear. It was something I wasn’t sure I could help with, but I would support them in whatever way I could.
"Hey, Aiden," Ur’s voice broke my train of thought. She was standing by the window in the guild hall, watching the rain fall outside. The air smelled fresh, and the rhythmic tapping of droplets on the glass created a tranquil ambiance. "Do you think... things can ever go back to the way they were?"
I leaned against the doorframe, not wanting to interrupt her, but knowing she needed to talk. "I think you’re asking the wrong question, Ur," I said softly. "It’s not about going back. It’s about moving forward with what you've got now. What matters is what you do with this moment."
She turned to look at me, her gaze filled with doubt. "But how do I fix this? How do I reach her? She’s so quiet now, like she’s lost."
I didn’t hesitate. "You can’t fix it, Ur. You can’t fix people, especially when they’re broken. What you can do is be there. You don’t have to say the right thing. You don’t have to heal her wounds. Just... be there."
She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I want to help, but sometimes I feel like she doesn’t even want me around."
I placed a hand on her shoulder. "She does, even if she doesn’t know it. She’s just struggling, and she needs time. Be patient with her."
—
3rd POV
After months of distance and silence, Ultear finally reaches her breaking point. It’s not a single moment, but a build-up—a quiet collapse of walls she’s built around herself. The tipping point happens on a quiet evening, just after dinner. She’s sitting by herself, staring out at the moonlit sky through the open window, her expression distant.
Ur notices her, her heart aching with the familiar weight of a mother’s love. She’s been watching from the sidelines, unsure of how to bridge the chasm between them. Today, though, she’s decided to try again.
Ur walks over to Ultear, sitting beside her. For a long moment, the two of them just look out at the night together, neither speaking. The silence hangs heavy between them, but it’s not uncomfortable—there’s a shared understanding, a longing for connection.
“Ultear,” Ur says quietly, her voice gentle but full of emotion. “ I know you have your reasons for pushing me away. But you don’t have to carry this alone. You never did.”
Ultear’s eyes flick to her mother, her face unreadable. “I’ve made so many mistakes, Mom. I... I’ve hurt people. And I... I hurt you, too.”
Ur’s heart twinges at the words, but she reaches over and places a hand on Ultear’s, squeezing it softly. “You were hurt too, Ultear. I’ve seen you struggle with that pain. I just... I didn’t know how to help. I’m still learning.”
“I’m not the person I was before,” Ultear admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know who I am anymore. After everything I’ve done... I don’t think I can be the daughter you want me to be.”
Ur looks at her with soft, understanding eyes. “I don’t need you to be perfect, Ultear. I never did. What I want is for you to be you, no matter how broken or lost you feel. Our bond... it’s not about perfection. It’s about love. Time. Growth.”
Ultear’s lip quivers, and she turns her head to look away, a tear escaping her eye. “I’m scared I’m never going to be good enough. That no matter what I do, I’ll never make up for everything I’ve done.”
Ur gently tilts Ultear’s chin so that their eyes meet. “You don’t have to make up for anything, my love. We all have our mistakes, our regrets. But we also have the chance to rebuild, step by step. It’s never about being perfect—it’s about learning, forgiving, and moving forward. And I’ll be here with you every step of the way.”
Ultear, slowly, carefully, nods. “I’m scared, Mom. I don’t know how to move forward...”
“You don’t have to know right now,” Ur says softly, pulling Ultear into a warm embrace. “I’ll help you, and we’ll do it together.”
I could see it in Ultear’s eyes—she was trying to step out of her shell. It wasn’t easy, but there was a spark of determination in her that had been missing for a while. I figured she needed something more; she needed to connect with the guild.
"How about we throw a party?" I suggested to Alma one evening.
She raised an eyebrow. “A party?”
“Yeah. Something simple. A way to remind Ultear—and everyone—that they belong here.”
Alma nodded, already plotting. "You’re right. Let’s do it."
The guild was all in. Even Ur, usually so quiet about these things, agreed. It was a chance to lighten the mood.
The night of the party, the hall at Fortress Leonhart filled with guildmates. Laughter and music filled the air, and I could feel the tension melt away. But Ultear? She was hanging back, arms crossed, just watching. I didn’t push her. She wasn’t ready to dive in, but I wasn’t about to let her sit it out.
I decided to use my Celestial Inventory to stir things up. I summoned a herd of inflatable sheep, and they ended up knocking into Laxus, trapping him inside one. His curses were hilarious, and the guild roared with laughter. Ultear looked over, and I saw a tiny smile.
Alma caught it. She walked over to Ultear, teasing, “Come on, you can’t just stand there and watch.”
Ultear hesitated, but Alma wasn’t giving up. With a bit more teasing, and some encouragement from Erza, Ultear finally joined the game.
The guild cheered her on, not expecting anything but her being there. No pressure. No perfection. Just her.
I watched, leaning against the wall, as she began to loosen up. Her laughter started out hesitant, but by the end of the night, she was teasing Laxus, laughing with Erza, and even throwing some jabs at Jellal. It wasn’t perfect, but she was finally realizing she didn’t have to be.
As the night wound down, I stood back, watching the guildmates interact and Ultear laughing with them. It wasn’t the end of her journey, but it was a step in the right direction. With the guild by her side, and Ur and me watching over her, I knew she’d find her way back. Not to who she was before, but to someone whole again.
